


When We Fight, We Forget

by geckoholic



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Barebacking, Emotional Baggage, Fight Sex, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 19:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20031007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: It's a deliberate taunt and a distraction, an offer to leave the punching bag alone and work off his frustration, his anger and fear, with Kougami instead.





	When We Fight, We Forget

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pirotess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirotess/gifts).

> I took your first prompt, and your second prompt although not played straight, and some of your smut likes, et voila, here we are. Hope you'll enjoy!
> 
> Not beta'd, so all remaining mistakes are most definitely mine.
> 
> Title is from "Can We Hang On?" by Cold War Kids.

He hits the punching bag with too much force. His knuckles are sore, might start bleeding at some point because he didn't take enough time to wrap them, and yet it still doesn't serve to release the pressure that's been building up inside him. It's the wrong kind of stress relief anyway, Ginoza knows that. He should be doing something calm and soothing. He should have scheduled a therapy visit for tomorrow and gone to bed early. 

He didn't. He's down here, raining punches onto unforgiving leather until he's the one that hurts, proving that he's his father's son after all. 

No. 

Ginoza halts the punching ball and, panting, slides down onto the mats that cover every inch of the gym. He sits there, legs drawn up to his chest, and stares at his hands. The skin on his knuckles has indeed begun to crack, tiny slivers of red showing here and there, like abrasions from a fall. He huffs a laugh at the thought; that's what he's trying to avoid. He won't fall, like his father did. Won't _fail_ like his father did. 

The door to the gym creaks open and Ginoza's head whips around to see who's disturbing his solitude this late at night. He recognizes the familiar silhouette before the person ever steps out of the shadows and into the glaring light of the training area. 

“I should have known I'd find you down here,” Kougami says, with a wink and a smirk, but the fine creases around his eyes betray his worry. 

Ginoza cuts his gaze away. “You were looking for me.”

“Couldn't sleep.” Kougami says, shrugging his shoulders. “Thought I'd swing by your room and see if you'd like to tire me out.” 

He says it casually, neither teasing in his voice nor a hint of shame, and Ginoza's face heats despite himself. It's not in him, to talk about sex like Kougami does, like it's akin to sharing a cup of tea or a bag of crackers. 

Kougami laughs. “Gino. I love that you still get embarrassed when I _talk_ about fucking you. It's adorable, that little blush.” He takes a few more steps towards Ginoza, his voice dropping lower. “And yet, when we're actually doing it, you're absolutely shameless.” 

It's a deliberate taunt and a distraction, an offer to leave the punching bag alone and work off his frustration, his anger and fear, with Kougami instead. Some other time, in the light of day, Kougami might offer to talk things out instead, take a walk together, go out to study in the park. But this isn't that kind of problem, and Kougami knows him up and down, can read him way too easily. Worst of all, he won't hesitate to give Ginoza a target on which to unload his dark moods – the kind of mood where he feels like he's fighting a losing battle, where everything feels futile, where the footsteps his father left for him feel at once too small and too large. Ever since he was a teenager, Ginoza wondered whether clouded hues are hereditary. Some days, like tonight, he's convinced he'll never have a chance, that he's destined for the same path. 

“You know,” Kougami says, his tone still suggestive. “I read another essay on how sex can clear your hue.” 

Ginoza snorts. “That was nonsense the first couple times you told me, and it's still nonsense now.” 

And even if it were true, then it'd be some kind of tender love-making, not the kind of violent tryst they fall into on nights like this. He doesn't need to say that, though. It's an excuse, another taunt, nothing more. 

Kougami just shrugs again. “Might at least get you exhausted enough to fall asleep, right? And maybe you'll be kinder to yourself when you wake up in the morning.” 

His voice softens on the last couple of words and it's that, more than anything, that makes Ginoza stand up and close the distance between them. He steps into Kougami's personal space, leans in so that their lips are almost touching. 

“Don't even think about being gentle with me,” he says. Kougami smirks, the kind that's playful and almost a little predatory. It's a trap, has been from the moment he showed up down here. Ginoza tries to decide whether he cares, end result being what it is, and comes up empty. 

He charges at Kougami and starts them off with a close, intimate hit Kougami parries with ease. Kougami jumps backwards, and the kick that follows is a little harder to dodge, makes Kougami stumble. Of course he doesn't fall, even manages to channel his momentum into his next move, a roundhouse that narrowly misses Ginoza's kidney. 

Ginoza tries to hold on to Kougami's leg, but overbalances and falls against Kougami's chest. Kougami smirks, wild and suggestive. He twists one of his arms and holds onto his waist with the other. His shoulder burns from the position, his heart is racing, his breathing already out of control. Kougami, finally, claims his mouth for a kiss and Ginoza doesn't even attempt to stop him, kisses back with all the ferocity of a drowning man. Arousal surges through his loins, and he's done playing, done pretending that this is more of fight than a fuck. 

He slips his free hand past the waistband of Kougami's sweatpants, feeling gratified at finding him already hard. The heat of him seeps through the much thinner fabric of his briefs, and Ginoza rubs at him without bothering to wriggle his hands down the briefs as well; it isn't long until he notices the wet spot that's building at the front, growing bigger as he concentrates his efforts there, teasing at the head. 

“Here?” Kougami asks, as if either of them would still be capable of stopping, and takes the time to mouth at Ginoza's neck before he continues. “What if someone else shows up? What if someone sees?” 

“Do you care?” Ginoza shoots back and wrenches halfway out of his grip, tries to hook his foot behind Kougami's ankle to force them both to the ground, and, failing that, dives in for another heated kiss. They both know the answer to that one; they also both know Ginoza's answer to the same question, and that's probably why Kougami doesn't insist on hearing it, doesn't argue further. 

Instead, he finally releases his hold on Ginoza's arm only to immediately grab his ass with both hands and force him closer; close enough that Ginoza's own growing erection is pressed against his hand down Kougami's sweatpants. Could be he figured that would put them at an impasse, could be he knows Ginoza well enough to have expected that he won't stop. It takes some maneuvering to work both of their hard, straining dicks out of their respective confines, and he can't hold back a long moan as he wraps his hand around them both and increases the pace and the pressure. 

“Shhhh,” Kougami warns. “Someone might hear.” 

That should not send such a white-hot shiver of need through Ginoza's whole body, and he does try to suppress the next moan, and the next, as he jerks them off together. He's getting close; some other night, this would be sufficient, would calm him down, would mean he's spent enough energy spent so his mind can settle, but not tonight. He wants more. His hand stills, and for a moment they remain where they are, foreheads touching, breathing through the rush. 

He yelps when Kougami pushes him towards the wall, gasps when Kougami falls to his knees in front of him and swallows him down almost to the root. The blow job is quick and lacks finesse, but it serves to make Ginoza all the more needy, all the more compliant, and he doesn't put up a fight again when Kougami turns him around so that he's facing the wall, kicks his feet apart, and pulls his briefs and sweatpants down to pool around his feet. It's all he can do to brace himself on the wall with both hands, trying to find a stable position so he'll withstand the hard and desperate onslaught that's surely heading his way. He lowers his head and exhales, and he waits. 

Kougami keeps one hand on the small of his back while he rummages around in his own pockets and soon Ginoza hears plastic rustle. A sachet is ripped open. Kougami is intimately familiar with his body, has been for years, knows how much preparation Ginoza needs, how much he'll want on a night like this, and doesn't make him wait too long before he displaces his fingers with his cock. 

The initial penetration burns, waves of discomfort spreading throughout his whole lower body, but he revels in the sensation of being filled too soon, every slow thrust setting his blood on fire. He won't last, but that hardly matters; it's not the point, anyway. Right now, pleasure is a means to an end for him, and what counts is the exhaustion afterwards, the comfortable numbness that will set his whiling mind at ease. 

Palms flat on the wall, he doesn't even consider putting a hand on himself. He can jerk off whenever he likes; tonight he wants to come on nothing else than the slow drag of Kougami's cock against his prostate, on feeling so full and being taken so roughly. He closes his eyes. One more thrust, two, and he's coming, biting his lip bloody to keep from screaming out Kogami's name. Kougami doesn't slow down in the slightest, now chasing his own orgasm, and bottoms out in one last long and deep shove. 

He withdraws and steps back, and it takes a few more seconds before Ginoza's aware enough to remember that he's standing with his pants around his ankles in a gym that's open to every student at their academy, all around the clock. He inhales. His hands are shaking a little as he sorts himself out as best as he can. 

“How are you?” asks Kougami, too much concern in his voice, switching between hard fucking and soft words much too soon. “Better.” 

Ginoza's briefs are a mess, he's sticky everywhere with nothing to properly wipe down his own release, nothing to stop the slow trickle of Kougami's come down his taint that's soaking the fabric further. Some part of him revels in that, too, in the aftermath. They've gone hard enough that he'll feel this for days, and that might help as well, allow him to conjure up how he felt tonight every time he moves the wrong way or sits down too quickly. 

“I'm fine,” he says, snuffling, and stalks towards the door. Kougami hesitates, but catches up after a moment. He keeps a hand on the small of Ginoza's back all the way up to his room, and Ginoza will never admit how grateful he is for the point of contact. 

He's also grateful that Kougami doesn't ask if he should sneak in with him, stay the night. It'd be too much; it'd rob him of every chance to keep up appearances. He might break down. Might talk. Might cry. Might yell. 

Kougami smiles at him and gives a little wave, and then he's disappearing down the corridor. Ginoza strips and crawls between the sheets, postponing the shower to after he's woken up in the morning. He reaches between his legs and brings himself off one more time, still sore, Kougami's come coating his fingers as he pumps them in and out of his own body. His second orgasm of the night quick and shallow, but it helps him let go. 

It helps him fall asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [dreamwidth](https://geckoholic.dreamwidth.org/), [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


End file.
